


Time We Unseated the Champion

by purplefury



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Action, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, extreme measures battle, with humorous moments because theseus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28115226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplefury/pseuds/purplefury
Summary: “Ah, well,” Achilles clears his throat. “If we leave now, we should be able to catch him. What do you say?”If there’s one trait that persists beyond life, it’s Achilles’ stubbornness. He won’t accept ‘no’ as an answer, will he?“Fine, but you best behave.”“When have I- you know what, never mind.”Patroclus and Achilles watch one of Zagreus' battles in Elysium. That's how it starts, at least.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 76
Kudos: 457





	Time We Unseated the Champion

Patroclus didn't intend on wielding his spear in the afterlife. 

The weapon reminds him of tumultuous war, of lives and love lost. He remembers his own inner turmoil well, how hope drained from his phantom heart as he sat, waiting and waiting. He believed he'd never see Achilles again, resigning himself to a lonely fate among fools.

The Fates are gentle.. His Achilles is gentle. So gentle, in fact, that it takes a moment to acknowledge the hand against his face.

"Everything all right, Pat? You've got that look about you."

Patroclus blinks and meets Achilles' gaze. His eyes shine with renewed light compared to their long-sought reunion. They were dull back then, clouded by grief and regret. But he found him again. They found each other again. The light slowly returns.

"Just thinking about the past, is all," he answers, turning the spear in his hand. Its point reflects blue light against his eyes. "It's… been some time, and I'm certainly rusty."

"All the more reason to practice," Achilles says. "I can't imagine sitting in the same patch of grass is very exciting."

"Rest is quite exciting, thank you very much."

"I don’t deny that. I would say to live a little, but, you know."

"You jest with me?" 

"Just a bit."

Who is he to tease, really? Figuratively, Patroclus offered his lifelong gratitude to a certain stranger, the very reason why he and his beloved are together again. Should Zagreus require the aid of the Myrmidons, he promised himself he would support him. He owes him that much.

And so, he accepts and takes up arms.

Combat works differently in this realm. Patroclus throws his spear, and it hovers where it should land. With a flick of his wrist, it returns to his hand, cutting through the air yet never hurting him. A divine shield briefly encompasses him upon catching the spear.

“Do that again,” Achilles requests, facing the blunt end of his weapon toward Patroclus. A second throw, and upon the spear’s return, Achilles jabs forward. The shield forces his hand back, and he smiles. 

“Hm, good to know. Now, my turn.”

Achilles steps back, widening the distance between them. He throws his spear in Patroclus’ direction, and, like a flash of light, appears right in front of him. He's notoriously fast, yet this is all new to him. 

It's no excuse to go easy.

Some things don't change. When they're serious, the normally quiet glade fills with sounds of clashing steel and banter of an old wedded couple. When they're not, they forgo spears altogether and wrestle in the grass, the flower fields, wherever mischief takes them. They end with laughter and petals in their tousled hair. Plenty of kisses, as well. 

It takes little time for Patroclus to adjust to this new style of battle. Fellow Myrmidons once regarded him as the best after Achilles, but Achilles disagreed. He still disagrees. According to him, he forever regards Patroclus as his equal - the superior one, even. 

Commotion sounds beyond their glade, a sign of the stranger’s presence. He knows how to make a grand entrance.

“Have you ever seen the lad in battle?” Achilles turns to him.

“Once,” Patroclus says. “I usually stay clear of the stadium, but when he held your old spear, curiosity got the best of me. Whether the recklessness I saw was his own or influenced by you, who knows.”

“I deserved that one.”

“That, you did.”

“Ah, well,” Achilles clears his throat. “If we leave now, we should be able to catch him. What do you say?”

If there’s one trait that persists beyond life, it’s Achilles’ stubbornness. He won’t accept ‘no’ as an answer, will he?

“Fine, but you best behave.”

“When have I- you know what, never mind.”

Patroclus laughs and kisses him again, watching his reaction. His cheeks don’t flush pink in this realm, but there’s no mistaking the warmth and fondness in his eyes. A small matter left to attend to, though.

“You haven’t fussed over our little Antos, lately. Always with your spool and needle, threading away.”

“Ah, that. Finally gave it to the lad, a gift from us. He collects them, you know.”

“Does he, now? So long as it makes him happy, all the power to him.” Patroclus pulls his spear from its spot on the grass. “If he needs more, I suppose we should bring these. I doubt any shades will try to fight us - you, mostly.”

Achilles waves off the claim. Still, his spear is always at the ready.

Off to the stadium, then. He wonders what antics the stranger has in store, this time.

* * *

The antics are worse. Theseus is already absurd, but this? 

The champion of braggarts flexes his arms atop a bronze chariot. Two cylindrical shapes of unknown origin protrude from the front. 

“Achilles, what is _that?_ ”

“The Macedonian Tau-Lambda? Strongest chariot among the living and the dead, fashioned by Daedalus himself.”

“That’s good to know, but I mean his face.”

“Hah, that?” Achilles shakes his head. “Also fashioned by Daedalus… as a little joke. Suits him well, don’t you think?”

“Very.” Patroclus leans against the railing separating the balcony from the arena. He turns his attention toward the Bull of Minos, whose golden armor gleams beneath Elysium’s light. He wonders if that name offends him; some call him Asterius, from what he gathers. Names may matter little to him, yet it makes little sense to presume the same of others.

“I’m guessing the stranger signed another pact, of sorts. It’s like a game to him.”

“Lad’s always finding something new to occupy his time. Keeps him from getting bored. Though, perhaps he is well-accustomed to this arrangement, and we simply bore no witness.”

Patroclus hums as a chamber door opens beneath them. The guest of honor arrives with an air of confidence, gloves on and ready for battle. 

“Malphon, this time around?” Achilles leans closer to observe the scene. “Let’s see what will happen.”

The crowd rallies in anticipation of the now-famous event. Patroclus can’t make out the exact words, yet the telltale boasting of Elysium’s champion fills the air. That irksome laughter, and that gods-awful complexion… Theseus could never. Beside him, Asterius rests the handle of a massive axe against his shoulder. Across from the pair, Zagreus bears his gloved fists in the open.

Weapons ready, the battle commences.

Zagreus aims for Asterius, ignoring the other entirely. A valid strategy, as Patroclus tries to comprehend Theseus’ movements. The champion drives along the arena’s perimeter, and strange, flaming spheres rain from his chariot. They burst upon landing, setting the surrounding area aflame. The air gradually heats around them.

“Constraining the field?”

Achilles nods, brows furrowed in concentration. Aside from that comment, they speak little else.

Within the confines, Zagreus dashes with a speed akin to Achilles in his youth. A divine shield surrounds him as he phases through the air, narrowly dodging the flaming spheres in his path. Asterius swings his great axe twice, slicing rifts through the air. Despite his size, he leaps forward with ease, axe smashing the ground beneath. A shock wave seizes Zagreus’ legs, and he summons a bladed circle, blood-red and swirling. Its force lures Asterius briefly, but the minotaur resists. Zagreus moves again. 

Asterius drags his hooves against the ground. Gripping his axe with both hands, he launches into a powerful spin, crumbling pillars in its path of destruction. Zagreus dashes away, eyes fixed upon a frenzied charioteer. The two cylinders launch some sort of projectiles, like small, detached spear points. The divine shield deflects Theseus’ attacks, leaving dents in his chariot. He cackles and changes direction, raining hellfire along the center of the arena.

The battle persists with Zagreus’ attention shifting from foe to foe. The slower turns of the chariot, the stunned Asterius after crashing headfirst into a pillar - Zagreus rains fury when opportunity strikes. Green sparks fly from his fists as he uppercuts, dashes, and pummels. Attacks leave further dents in the chariot and markings against golden armor. Zagreus visibly breathes harder.

Theseus adjusts his course, driving straight toward his target. Zagreus sidesteps to avoid the chariot when Asterius slams into him at full force, sending him flying, rolling, crashing against the wall.

Patroclus hears a gasp beside him. His gaze flickers upon hands gripping the rail, then flickers back. Smoke obscures the area of impact, and arms push away the rubble. 

“Dispose of him!”

He catches a familiar orange hue in Zagreus' hand, and Achilles leaps into action.

"Come on, Pat!"

Achilles swings himself over the railing and launches himself down toward the fray. There's a crater in the wall where his foot braced itself.

"Oh, please," Patroclus huffs, and he follows suit. He steps onto the railing and leaps down, cloak fluttering with his descent. With grace comes power, and his landing leaves a sizable crater in the ground. 

Theseus’ chariot screeches to a halt in front of the newcomer. “What is this?!”

Patroclus looks up with a smirk. The gods can’t hinder him, now.

Nearby, Achilles intercepts Asterius' next charge, spear clashing with his axe. Asterius backs off, eyeing the confidence of this famous challenger.

"You all right, lad?" Achilles reaches toward him.

"Urgh, more or less," Zagreus shakes off the rubble and accepts Achilles' hand. A steady pull, a waver, and he's on his feet again. “Got overconfident, I guess.”

“It’s a good thing we’re here, then,” Achilles readies his spear. “I’ve got this one. See what Pat can do.”

Patroclus hears the roar of the crowd, reminiscent of his comrades’ battle cries as they charged forward. To think, a number of these shades were men he knew, in life. The thought brings forth conflicted feelings, but they can wait. Someone’s at his side.

“Welcome back.”

“You and Achilles--!” Zagreus says with awe in his voice. “Never thought I’d see this, let alone be part of it!”

“Suppose we can make history in death. You know what I mean.”

"My fellow champions, why?!" 

The confusion amuses Patroclus, if only for a moment. As bothersome as Theseus is, he knows never to underestimate his foes. 

“Whatever trickery you used to force them by your side, _monster_ , I--!”

A glint of a spear, and one of the cylinders atop the chariot shatters at its base. The metal lands with a thud against the floor, and Theseus’ shock reaches new heights.

“His name is Zagreus,” Patroclus scoffs, returning the weapon to his hand. “Show some damn respect.”

He thinks he hears Zagreus say his name, and then the chariot's charging like a bull who sees red. The two split off, and the fight continues.

"Seems I've angered him," Patroclus dodges the rain of hellfire above. Clouds of smoke rise from where it singes the ground. 

"You don't say.” 

Patroclus tracks the chariot's trajectory, looking for any patterns in its movements. An angered warrior is unpredictable, though in this case, the only pattern involves plowing through them. 

“ _Begone_ , you--!” Theseus locks eyes with Patroclus and splutters, resigning to some attempt at a battle cry.

The chariot launches the same loosened spear points toward Zagreus. The shield protects him with each dash, hurtling the points back. They bounce off the chariot’s polished metal and Theseus’ obnoxious laughter persists. What a nuisance.

“I’ve got whatever that thing is,” he shouts toward Zagreus. “Help me slow it down.”

“Got it!”

Patroclus lures the racing chariot, running past craters in the ground, courtesy of Asterius. Theseus drives better than he talks, weaving past holes with practiced ease. Zagreus rushes in from the side, sending the blood-red blade toward his target. The chariot’s wheels lock as the blade pulls it closer to its core. Theseus clenches his teeth as he tries to steer away.

Target set, Patroclus launches his spear. Theseus makes a sharp turn and the spear misses its mark, clanging just beside the cylinder. A small huff, but no matter. He’ll try again.

Something crashes beside him, and Achilles slides back from the force of Asterius’ axe smashing the ground. He brushes the hair from his eyes and winks.

“Hey, Pat.”

“Don’t you ‘hey’ me.”

Achilles laughs, and then he’s off like a flash. A rich laugh, yet one filled with joy. Is this a lighthearted sparring match for the fool? Still, the joy seems genuine, and they’re together. Maybe that’s enough.

They split up again, and Patroclus follows the chariot’s path. There’s no clear pattern. Deep slashes now cover the chariot’s exterior asTheseus drives haphazardly.

“You’ve scratched the detailing!” Theseus yells as Zagreus gives chase.

Wheels screech and leave scorch marks as he swerves. Asterius duels nearby, smashing new craters into the ground as fleet-footed Achilles phases out of view, only to return headfirst, spear against axe.

“How goes it, Asterius?” Theseus shouts as he passes.

A snort. “Hmph. Worthy challengers face us. I quite enjoy it.”

“Are you saying I’m not challenging enough for you!?”

“Speak of this later, king.”

So he also has a fool of a companion. Patroclus relates. He draws back his weapon and launches it toward the chariot. It bounces off, returning to his hand.

“Ha! You missed--”

Theseus bites back his words as the chariot lurches forward, wheels stuck within a deep crack in the floor. He’s the bigger fool.

A second throw, and the spear pierces through its target like an arrow. The second cylinder lands with a clang and rolls away, useless. 

Theseus lets out a frustrated cry. His palm pushes something within his chariot, and the wheels spin faster, sending dust flying as he escapes the crater. 

Crashing sounds akin to waves against cliffs move closer and closer, and Patroclus knows to move aside. Divine power bursts from Zagreus’ glowing form as he charges into the chariot, sending it crashing against the opposite wall. The power fades and momentum sends Zagreus running forward, steam rising as flaming feet touch water. 

Smoke clears, and the chariot has seen better times. Dents and scratches mar its once-polished form, and then there’s the driver himself.

“ _Hah!_ The Macedonian is stronger than before!” Theseus boasts. “Now, die!!”

He slams his palm down again. The chariot lurches, then speeds forward with even greater speed. Lovely.

“New plan,” Patroclus blows strands of hair from his face. “Shut him up.” 

He waits not a moment longer when Zagreus speaks.

"Throw me, sir. I can take it."

"What?" Patroclus says, glancing forward, then back. "Fine, get ready."

Zagreus dashes away. The two coordinate their movements, dodging the charging Macedonian. The chariot screeches to a halt, turns, and speeds forward again. Upon a clear line of sight, Zagreus sprints, reaching out with an arm.

Catching Zagreus mid-air, Patroclus pivots on one foot and launches him toward Theseus with all his strength. Zagreus seizes Theseus by the torso, and the two crash against the wall with a force that sends startled shades scattering above. The chariot veers off and crashes into a pillar, metal flying as the contraption is reduced to mere fool's gold on the ground.

Ah, too much?

There’s an incredulous “they stole our attack!” when Achilles appears at his side once more.

“Huh,” he says, eyeing the new crater in the wall.

A pillar collapses in front of them, and Asterius shakes off the dust from his body. Seeing the pair before him, he stands taller despite his natural height.

“I did not expect the greatest Myrmidons to grace our presence,” Asterius begins. “It is an honor to do battle.” 

“So polite. Nothing like your comrade-in-arms, over there,” Patroclus gestures, hoping that Zagreus is knocking the laurels from his head. “How do you stand him?”

A snort. “We talk through our grievances, should they occur. We do what we must to keep our bond strong.”

“Oh, I know the feeling. Took time for my Achilles and I to catch up.” 

Patroclus hears the laugh beside him. It comforts him.

“Like old times, Pat?” Achilles says, readying his spear.

Patroclus smiles. “Like old times.”

Partners in life and death, here they stand.

While he learned Zagreus’ way of battle during the battle itself, fighting with Achilles is familiar. Post-life perks aside, they understand each other by heart, by soul. Covering each other’s weaknesses, bolstering each other’s strengths - like old times, indeed. 

Asterius starts with a horizontal slice of his axe, cutting a rift through the air. Patroclus ducks past, feeling the crackling energy against his face. He notes the well-placed dents within the minotaur’s armor, as well as broken shoulder pieces.

“Using strategy, for once?” Patroclus says as he crosses paths with Achilles.

“I know better, now,” Achilles shrugs. “The lad’s watching, too.”

From the corner of his eye, Patroclus sees Zagreus and Theseus in a standoff, spear against fists. Sure, he is.

Asterius launches into a colossal spin, energy surging in arcs with each full turn. They dash aside and avoid the onslaught once more. A rift of energy cuts a clean slice into Patroclus’ cloak as it flutters through the air. A _tsk_ leaves his mouth.

Spear points barely leave a dent in Asterius’ gleaming armor, as Patroclus confirms. Achilles must have resorted to his fists, at some point. Reckless as ever. Still, some dents are too large, and that’s when a pillar reforms in front of Patroclus’ eyes. 

With great speed and coordinated attacks, they lure a charging Asterius toward the nearest pillar, then another, and another. Pieces of golden armor break away with each crash, though Asterius makes them work hard for their efforts. Colossal spins grow in size and speed, destroying obstacles and putting the Myrmidons on the defense.

“A challenge, finally,” Achilles says, narrowly avoiding a raging rift sent from Asterius’ axe. Patroclus notes the clean slice down his cloak. Ah, they match.

A stiff breeze blows through the stadium, and Asterius relents from his attack.

“Now, my king!” 

Shields encapsulate the two warriors, and Theseus holds up his spear with a sluggish arm. His body glows faintly purple, and bubbles rise in the air. Patroclus watches the same purple sheen fade from Zagreus’ gloves as he returns to his side. The breeze strengthens into gusting winds, and Theseus’ spear glows with blinding light.

“Get ready. Grandmother’s testing me, I reckon.”

Of course, she is. Nothing surprises him, anymore.

Theseus lets out a battle cry, and the spear sends the light toward the ceiling, creating a blizzard that engulfs the arena.

_“Lady Demeter, I call upon your aid!”_

The air descends to a bitter cold, and the blizzard rages forth. Patroclus shields his eyes with an arm, cloak flying back from the sheer power. 

A sharp object flies past his arm, then past his head. He hears the telltale cackle of an empowered Theseus as his spear launches ice shards with each spin. Familiar golden light parts through the snow-laden air, and the shards fly back.

Zagreus greets him, huffing from exertion. Icicles burst from the ground, and they dodge several that nearly pierce through their feet. Patroclus glances around, back and forth.

“Go to him, sir!”

A swirling vortex of frost swells nearby, forcing them to split up. Shock waves and heavy crashing reveal Asterius’ presence. Achilles is near. Not that he ever doubts his skill, but the snow is thick and the winds rage like men charging forth. He can’t see well, and he’s looking, searching. He can’t lose sight of him. He won’t. He’s here, he’s here.

There.

Amidst the raging snow, he sees a bright flash and rushes forward. Timing the throw of his spear, Patroclus catches it as another nearly pierces through his chest. The shield surrounds him, deflecting Theseus’ weapon with force. He hears a gasp behind him.

“...And I thought I was the reckless one.” 

“I’ll claim that title, for now,” Patroclus smiles. “I’ve got your back, always.” 

No need to face Achilles, for he feels the effect of his support.

“Hope you never have to do that, again.”

They turn to face the storm.

For all its divine strength, the blizzard shows mercy for none. The two dodge the incoming charge and stay close. Asterius is no coward with a chariot, attacking at every opportunity, powerful and persistent. It’s a dance of dashes, strikes, and blocks as they battle. It’s difficult to lure him into obstacles, but they’ll find a way. They always do.

Fighting side-by-side, together again. Even in death, Patroclus feels he can take on the world, so long as he’s there.

An icicle bursts through the ground beside his feet, and Patroclus pierces it with his spear. The top breaks off, and without a second thought, he hurls it toward Asterius. The ice shatters along with a portion of armor, golden pieces blowing away with the wind. A goddess’ strength is the bull’s weakness.

“Achilles!”

He stabs another icicle in his path, breaking off the rest with his bare hand. Achilles understands and draws Asterius’ attention, steel clashing with steel. His spear is a flurry of strikes, almost too fast for the eye to see. No harm shall come to his Patroclus.

Each icicle shatters more of the armor, ice and gold flying past their faces. The two persist and fight on, weaving between icicles, breaking, launching, dashing, striking. They stand together for a moment, and Asterius charges with all his might. They split apart, and he crashes into an obscured pillar.

A twirl of their spears, and together, they launch their weapons, empowered in the other’s presence. No armor remains to guard the fatal strikes, and Asterius drops to a knee on the ground.

“Well fought, Bull of Minos,” Achilles says. “Haven’t been challenged like that, for a long time. We thank you.”

A snort, and he looks up to face them. “As do I, great warriors. May we fight again, should you both return.”

The minotaur’s spirit dissipates, particles mingling with the snow above, and then he’s gone. Spears return to their hands.

“Asterius, no!!” 

Seeing the fate of his dear companion, the winds rage with ferocity. Theseus slams the end of his spear against the ground, and lines of sharp icicles spread from the site of impact. Patroclus weaves past the obstacles and reaches a weary Zagreus on the ground. He swats away incoming ice shards with his arm, shielded by his bracer.

“Good work, over there.” Zagreus pants, swallowing hard.

“Rest a moment,” Patroclus assures. “We’ve got this.”

Achilles is dramatic as always, announcing his presence with a harsh clang of steel against shield. Theseus slides back from the impact and grits his teeth.

“Of all contestants, you would side with that- with him!?”

Achilles smirks. “I’ve always sided with him.”

His swift speed disorients Theseus amidst the blizzard he summoned. Losing sight of Theseus proves less bothersome when he can hear him, instead. Patroclus eventually clashes with the champion himself, recognizing the fire in his eyes. It’s the fire of men who seek vengeance and bloodshed. Determined, unrelenting. But also, he’s even more unsightly up close.

The bitter cold seeps into areas where his bones once lay. He ponders this form of battle without divine intervention, save for Zagreus. He’s actually worthy. 

The familiar bladed circle launches forth as Achilles phases out of view. Zagreus is up again, and it’s quite a surprise when he suggests something.

"Deal the final attack, sir. I know you wanted to do it for a while."

"You what?!" Theseus shouts as he resists the pull of the vortex.

A huff turns into a laugh.

“Just this once then, stranger,” Patroclus says, too quiet for the offended Theseus to hear. In this realm, only he and Achilles may refer to him by nickname. They have the best ones, really.

A flash of light, and Achilles reappears in front of Theseus, who’s distracted by the audacity of it all. It’s a clear opening for one of the best.

A grin, and Achilles wrenches the shield out of Theseus’ grip, tossing it aside. He shouts something toward Zagreus and dashes away. The familiar roar of waves swells nearby, and Zagreus gives a determined look.

“One more time! Don’t worry-”

“You can take it?” Patroclus finishes. “I know.”

The two repeat their maneuver against the lone Theseus. Patroclus grasps his hand, spins to build momentum, and launches him forward. Glowing water surges around Zagreus, propelling him forward with exceptional speed. The force slams Theseus against the wall, and they feel the rumble beneath their feet.

Winds gradually cease, and raging snow slows into a light flurry, then nothing. The crowds erupt in cheers and applause at the sight, a rising star and the two greatest warriors of their time. With the blizzard’s end, they nearly claim victory.

Patroclus approaches the site of impact, intent on fulfilling Zagreus’ request. Smoke clears, revealing Theseus on one knee. He breathes unevenly, yet manages a sly grin.

“So I shall be slain by your hand, on this occasion!”

“It would be less painful, unless you prefer the usual way,” Patroclus gestures over his shoulder toward Zagreus.

Theseus chuckles. “I will accept defeat - just this once.”

Patroclus answers with silence.

“So, how does it feel, warrior? To hear the roar of the crowd above, to brandish your spear once more? Invigorating, is it not?”

He doesn’t need to glance above him, feeling the sound travel through his phantom limbs. A feeling akin to adrenaline flows where blood once gave him life.

“It is different from what I expected. But glory is not what I seek here.”

“Oh? Then perhaps I shall discover your _true_ intent, should we battle again!”

“Perhaps, indeed,” Patroclus says. He follows through with his spear and watches Theseus’ spirit dissipate in the air, leaving nothing behind. So that’s how it works here. No blood staining the ground, no armor, no broken spear point…

Zagreus steps forward, taking in a long, deep breath.

"That was... incredible." 

Patroclus hears the shiver in his voice, and he turns to see Zagreus trembling and rubbing his bare arms. Without a second thought, he unclasps his cloak and gently wraps it around his body.

“Sir?” 

It’s the genuine surprise in his eyes, or Patroclus’ own surprise, that catches him off-guard. He doesn’t know which Fates possessed him, if any. 

“I… well, try not to burn it, all right? I have no collection, you see.”

Zagreus chuckles, smiling as he pulls the cloak closer against himself.

“Thank you. But, you’re sure you don’t need it?”

“You likely feel the cold more than I do. Besides, Achilles can admire me in my full splendor” - he turns to speak over his shoulder - “isn’t that right?”

Achilles waves him off from a distance, not perceiving him.

“That means he likes it," Patroclus turns his attention to the large crater in the wall. "Ah, I hope I didn't hurt you there, stranger."

"Not at all. It was mostly Theseus who hit the wall, anyway. Speaking of which…"

He watches Zagreus jog toward said wall, the edge of the cloak dragging against the ground. He looks up and waves at a banner of his face, or rather, the shade above it.

"Did you see that, my good shade? The two greatest warriors who ever lived, fighting together - wow!"

The shade beams with joy, waving their arms in response. Zagreus’ words instill a once-dormant pride into Patroclus’ heart, where it once rested. _Together._ He likes the sound of that.

"There's the lad's biggest fan," Achilles says upon approach, holding a bottle of ambrosia as their prize. "Says they always cheer him on." He makes eye contact with the good shade and waves.

"The only one with taste, then," Patroclus chuckles, acknowledging the shade with a nod. He turns back to Achilles. "We should invest in one of those banners, hm? This good shade won’t have to cheer alone."

"I'm working on that as we speak," Achilles smiles. "Private commission back at the House - I know a shade, you see. Wonderful work, and I'd prefer that they take all the time they need.”

"What if we adorned the walls with his face alone?"

"Do you have the funds for such a project?"

"Does this shade accept trinkets?"

"I'm not sure."

"Hm."

Surrounded by cheers and merriment… such a different feeling. Patroclus associates fighting with war and glory-mongers, but here? A bit of his warrior's pride returns.

Achilles calls Zagreus over, and his reverie ends, for now. The cloak is too large, yet Patroclus finds the sight endearing. If he wore one of appropriate size, he thinks it would suit him quite well. Perhaps Achilles knows another shade, or perhaps Patroclus must stock up on trinkets.

"Got time to spare, lad?" Achilles holds the ambrosia. "Wouldn't be right to celebrate without your company."

"Finally, a good idea," Patroclus teases, laughing as Achilles elbows his side. "Really, though. Best to warm up before you head to the surface."

"All right, no need to tell me twice," Zagreus says. Without further fuss, they head toward the familiar glade to enjoy the spoils of their victory.

There’s something else to clarify, however.

Patroclus turns to Zagreus. “Back there… does Theseus typically call you that?”

“Oh, that? It changes depending on the day, or whenever,” Zagreus speaks casually. “Daemon, hellspawn, fiend - whatever he thinks is most creative. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Are you certain?” Patroclus raises a brow. “I know a few who would qualify for such a title, and you’re nothing like it.”

“It’s true, lad,” Achilles adds. “Take his words to heart. You have a good one, after all.”

Patroclus affirms the praise with a nod. “I don’t wish for you to lie for the sake of bravado. It harms more than it helps.”

“Really, I’m sure,” Zagreus insists. His voice lowers. “I appreciate your words, though. At the very least, I can shut him up for a while.”

“I see.” A hum, then a slight smile. “Well, I’m convinced. Should you seek to shut him up more quickly, we’ll be here. I’ll bring my best insults, just for you.”

“Just for me?” Zagreus says. His eyes light up at the prospect. “You could’ve said them earlier, no?”

“Something about setting a good example,” Patroclus gestures. “Blame him.”

Achilles scoffs.

“Aw, come on, sir! I’m grown now, it’s fine!”

“I know, lad, I know. It’s just- are you truly ready? With him, words are deadlier than the sharpest spear.”

“I can demonstrate now, if you wish.”

A gasp, exaggerated. “Don’t you dare!”

“Is that a challenge, my love?”

“Against the greatest of Greeks? It can be.”

“Greatest of fools, you mean.”

“Fight me, Pat.”

“See?”

“What are you smiling at, lad?”

He turns to see Zagreus laughing and covering his mouth with a hand. His eyes say enough.

“Forgive me, I’m just - I’m so happy for the two of you.” 

Happy to see them bicker like the old, wedded couple they are? Maybe he has a point, a good one befitting of his good heart. He hopes he may protect it.

Patroclus takes a final look at what remains of the arena. It’s in shambles, with crumbled pillars and craters abound. Hopefully, the employed shades in this realm are well-compensated.

* * *

The glade is quiet as always. An empty bottle of ambrosia, shared among the three, rests nearby.

Flowers bloom in a multitude of colors, clustering around Patroclus’ resting spot. They glow with a soothing light, pulsing slightly as Patroclus brushes his fingers against one’s petals. He plucks the blue flower off the grass and gently tucks it behind Achilles’ ear. His smile lights the realm and lights the world. 

Patroclus normally stretches his arms after a battle, but there are two reasons why he remains still. First, there’s no muscle pain to ward off in death. Second, Zagreus sleeps peacefully against his arm, breathing with an even rhythm.

“The lad rarely rests, if ever,” Achilles whispers. “How…?”

“Guess it’s one of my many talents,” Patroclus whispers back. His presence radiates warmth and comforts the weary, lulling them into a peaceful slumber. Or so Achilles tells him. The past Patroclus thought little of the statement. Now, he knows how Achilles feels around him - calm and whole. In turn, he feels at ease. Perhaps it’s why they complemented one another, embracing the goodness that others cast aside.

Heart and soul, two halves of a whole… yet, that’s not quite right. Humans start off whole, in their own way, and a life of burdens leaves dents and cracks. Sometimes, they may heal alone. Sometimes, one needs help to heal wounds from existing. Now, Patroclus understands. They have always been whole - wounded, weary, but whole. They confide in one another, and they heal together.

Ah, mulling over his thoughts again, even after a battle.

“Well fought, out there,” Patroclus says, pulling himself out of his own thoughts. He turns toward Achilles. “Dramatic entrance, though. It suits you.”

Achilles lets out of a huff in place of a laugh. “Too eager? Guess I felt some of my old self come back... the better parts, mind you.”

“I hope so,” Patroclus closes his eyes. “If it means seeing that joy upon your face, well… I suppose I’ll continue to fight by your side.”

“Are you certain?” There’s genuine surprise in Achilles’ voice. “I didn’t exactly ask you before I went to battle, and I wish not to pressure you.”

“No pressure,” Patroclus opens his eyes, committing his beloved’s image to memory. “I shall go where you go. Now, if you may do the same...”

Achilles answers with a kiss, then another, and another. Gentle, so gentle.

So happy.

“I shall. Always.”

Patroclus watches him examine several flowers, plucking a similar one from the grass. He lets him move strands of hair aside and tuck it behind his own ear. The bright blue complements the laurels encircling his head. He returns a soft kiss and smiles. So many moments earn his smile, lately. It’s a welcome change, and he is ever grateful.

“...What happened to us Myrmidons not being sentimental?” Achilles leans against him and sighs in content. 

Patroclus is about to respond when there’s a strange weight upon his leg. Or rather, a sleeping stranger. His cloak bunches together around Zagreus’ body, and he reaches over to adjust it.

“I’ve got it, Pat,” Achilles whispers.

He moves silently to the opposite side, removing the skull accessory for comfort’s sake. Setting it aside, Achilles removes and folds his own cloak into a makeshift cushion. Patroclus gently lifts Zagreus’ head as Achilles places it beneath, after which he moves Zagreus into a more comfortable position. With the cloak settled over Zagreus like a blanket, he’s as comfortable as he can be.

As for Patroclus…

“I guess I can’t move from this spot, hm?”

Achilles returns to his original place on the grass, kissing Patroclus’ cheek on the way down. Wrapping an arm around his waist, he cozies up against his beloved.

“I guess not.”

Patroclus sighs. He leans against Achilles, and the content hum soothes his concerns. It’s not worrisome, in truth. The three of them resting together - they’re a strange bunch, are they not? Almost as if...

He glances toward the strangest one against his leg. Zagreus stirs a bit, then settles. There’s a soft smile on his face. 

Patroclus spent most of his life and death alone, with only thoughts as his company. What little, precious moments he spent with his Achilles was taken before his time. What endless time he spent in Elysium was wrought with pain, confusion, and bitterness. Along comes a stranger who is not so strange, as well as the reunion with his beloved. Now they’re all here, enjoying a quiet moment in their humble glade.

He often ponders the prospect of family, one where no one would feel like a burden around the others. To leave one’s place, to know one’s place, to embrace one’s fate... all carried their own struggles. There’s no changing the past, but starting anew is an option. Time is by his side, by all of their sides.

Zagreus stirs again, and Patroclus reaches over to pull the cloak over his shoulder. Beside him, Achilles rests peacefully. Even after battle, his face appears less weary than before. Even in death, there’s life in him. Patroclus has an eternity to admire him, be with him. Love him. He loves him so much. There’s so much he can say.

For now, he places a kiss upon Achilles’ head and closes his eyes. Rest is a well-earned reward.

**Author's Note:**

> If there was an Aspect of Patroclus for the spear, I think it'd focus on defense to contrast Achilles' offense. It shields you briefly upon catching and reduces damage from behind for the next few seconds. Combined with the Myrmidon bracer, the two dads protect you!
> 
> I included a number of references, from choice of boons to certain lines - let me know if anything stood out to you!
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/purplefury_)!


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